Looking up, Sylvia had seen the now familiar figure of Count Paul de
Virieu hurrying towards her.
How early he had left Paris! She had understood that he meant to come
back by the last train, or more probably to-morrow morning.
"Paris was so hot, and my sister found that friends of hers were passing
through, so I came back earlier than I meant to do," he said a little
lamely; and then, "Is anything the matter?"
He looked with quick, anxious concern into her pale face and red-lidded
eyes. "Did you have a bad night at the tables?"
Sylvia shook her head.
"Something so strange--so unexpected--has happened." Her mouth quivered.
"Anna Wolsky has left Lacville!"
"Left Lacville?" Count Paul repeated, in almost as incredulous a tone
as that in which Sylvia herself had said the words when the news had
been first brought her. "Have you and she quarrelled, Mrs. Bailey? You
permit?" He waited till she looked up and said listlessly, "Yes, please
do," before lighting his cigarette.
"Quarrelled? Oh, no! She has simply gone away without telling me!"
The Comte de Virieu looked surprised, but not particularly sorry.
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